"If we lets him go," said the man called Job, "he peaches, sure
enough, and then 'tis the collar for us all," by which I understood
he meant the hangman's noose. "If we don't let him go we must
ayther take him with us or tie him up, and then belike his friends
will find him, and 'twill be the same end for us."
"Rest easy on both points," I said, having recovered somewhat of my
composure. "I won't peach, and I have no friends within twenty
miles."
"'S truth?" said the man.
"It is quite true," I replied.
Whereat they burst into a guffaw, and I knew that I had made
another mistake.
"He bain't over ripe," said the man on my middle.
"True, he was born young," said Job. "Well, now, I'm a gemman, I
am, and fair exchange is no robbery, and as I've took a fancy for
this 'ere coat, being a trifle newer nor mine, I'll chop with you;
me being a trifle older nor you makes all square, I reckon. Bill,
what about the breeches?"
"To be sure, Job, mine be worn thin; I'll have measter's breeches."
"And what's for me?" growled the man at my feet.
"There's only the shirt and the boots left," said Job, "for bein'
gemmen we can't let him go bare. You take the boots, Topper."
And having thus apportioned my habiliments, they proceeded to
divest me of boots and breeches, threatening to knock me on the
head if I made any resistance. In stripping me they came upon the
wallet in which my precious guineas were stowed. Job opened it in a
twinkling, and I had the mortification of seeing all the money I
possessed divided among these three ruffians.
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